Some favourite photographers, such as Alex Webb, whose work is similarly attracted to the subtle connections of street photography, sites of socio-political tension, and artistic, personal expression, have already stated their peculiar preference: to stay away from the short-lived heat of the event. See for example, Webb's photographic book Crossings, which is produced after an almost twenty-five year long fascination with the borders between Mexico and US; bringing out facets of cultural, spiritual and economic processes; and then compare this, at the opposite side, with some full-of-action, straight-drama, and crime and social control on your face type of images by several photojournalists, who tend to patrol the same borders but rather glued to the police reports and the generation of relevant headlines. The difference is huge. It is also known, however, that photographers act on impulse; take for example Samantha Appleton, one of the few remaining in the dying breed of photojournalists working in conflict zones, who drove all night from Maine and spent the night at ground zero on 9/11.

All this could, maybe, explain how by the night on 26th of March, after watching reports of the big anti-cuts demonstration in London, (an event which for all its obvious news-worthiness had not inspired enough my documentary appetite), I had suddenly decided that I really had to be there with my camera as soon as possible. It was partly because of that captivating emotive force, generated by the democratic claims of thousands of protesters walking together the streets of the capital city. It was also because of a new emerging image, those creative strategies of protesting (based around a campaign for social justice), which were coupled with carnival-like flares, bright colours, imaginative performances and even a home made Trojan horse. But mostly, I wanted to ask, how much of this is going to remain during the next days? Am I going to find any living traces of its message and spirit by tomorrow? How fast indeed such a massive demonstration can become a swept away past and what happens immediately after it? Maybe the degree and pace of social and urban cleanliness tells something about our politics.

***

Of course escaping Lancaster on Sunday is not very wise. Trains do not run until noon, but since I suspected that it would be a race, it seemed that my best chance was a 2:30 am bus. Unfortunately it arrived two hours late and full. After contemplating getting a taxi to Preston, that would cost a small fortune, and even bribing the driver of a coach full of French tourists heading to Liverpool airport, I finally found my way through a combination of early morning busses, taxis and trains.

I arrived in central London, sleepless and exhausted just after mid-day, only to find out that a few remaining workers were just putting their very last painterly touch in cleaning and renewing that place. And very soon. there was hardly anyone else to be seen around apart from shoppers and tourists. Skilfully and efficiently, as if acted by a weird magician-bureaucrat, the image of the city was transformed so much that someone would have a problem remembering that almost half a million people walked those streets the previous day. Any visual signs of political protest, social unrest, and civil disobedience had simply vanished. I walked up and down Oxford St. and the other central roads, where from TV crews were reporting the arrests of hundreds of people just a few hours ago. Almost in vain, the city was mute, reluctant for its own history. In fact, it felt like an archaeologist's smile in my face, when I discovered a hand-written "whose street? our streets" down on a piece of the road; a purple torn piece of fabric from a protester's flag caught on top of a tall traffic-light post; finally meeting the spectre of the burnt Trojan horse in a crossroad - a dark shadow haunting the indifferent city.

Thoughts kept wandering in my mind about Agamben's (2007) praise of 'profanations' . For him, the consumerist society, in a process of separation that highlights the religious character of capitalism, is the removal of things and places into the sphere of consumption after separating them from the sphere of common use. So, "to profane means to return to common use"; although, because the 'capitalist religion', unlike the other ones, and entering its extreme phase now, aims at creating something 'absolutely unprofanable', whereby distinctions cannot be made, Agamben argues that "the profanation of the unprofanable is the political task of the coming generation" (p.92).

I started moving around looking for whatever was caught in the transition - before the cleaning up, things still appearing and still signifying yesterday's use of the city. There was hardly any more than a few obscure and inconspicuous stickers., or some traces of misspelled anti-government graffiti. Although, I also found out a few not working traffic lights which were surreally covered with orange plastic bags - but no one could say if related to the demonstration - they were indeed passing as normal; and of course some broken bank facades - perhaps it was not easy to fix them so quickly like the rest, perhaps a motivated, prolonged visual remainder in order to stain the public memory.

*** 

I ended up in front of Fortnum & Mason staring at its beautifully decorated window displays. The previous day this large department store had become the main target for a network of peaceful protesters that campaign across UK against corporate tax avoidance and in favour of social fairness. It led to the arrest of everyone occupying the building despite their claims of this being a politically motivated clampdown on peaceful protesting and activism. An older man with an opulent grey shiny suit and immaculate grey curly hair walked out the side door of the large store, which almost looked like a a museum with all those rare decorations and special, well aranged varieties. A woman ran after him and opened the door of his car. Shoppers and tourists were moving in and out the building - everything seemed to work as normal. 'Strange' I thought.

"The museification of the world is today an accomplished fact", writes Agamben (p.83) and by "Museum" he means not only physical places with distinguished collections and exhibitions, but "the separate dimension to which what was once - but is no longer - felt as true and decisive has moved" (p. 84). So, this contemporary 'Museum' is "the exhibition of an impossibility of using, of dwelling, of experiencing", and as such it "occupies exactly the space and function once reserved for the Temple". Imagine the traditional pilgrims travelling to sacred sites to have been replaced today by tourists and shoppers. For Agamben it is astonishing that millions of tourists are acting in a practice that involves the irrevocable loss of all use, the absolute impossibility of profaning. Accordingly, Agamben is arguing for 'the profanation of the unprofanable' - this is the open question of the future. With these thoughts in my mind I looked back at my camera - there were few very precious but admittedly few photographs made that day; so I turned my eyes to my own reflection currently upon the shop's windows and created a series of 6 self-portraits (click on Gallery: Self-Portraits).